


Turtle Prompts (Explicit)

by Stegosaur



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Bondage, Dubious Consent, M/M, Non-Consensual
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-04-28 09:17:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14446128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stegosaur/pseuds/Stegosaur
Summary: A collection of explicit short stories based around pseudo-randomly generated writing prompts.





	1. Prompt #1: Leo/Raph, Modern AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Setting:   
> Modern
> 
> Genre:  
> Fluff 
> 
> Trope:   
> Friends with Benefits
> 
> Prompt:   
> One character is a nudist.
> 
> Kink:   
> Exhibitionism

     Raphael looked himself over in the mirror one more time: khaki shorts hung loosely from his hips, a red polo shirt clinging tightly to his ripped chest and arms, with a pair of white sneakers covering his wide feet.  He’d never been over to Leo’s place before, and he wanted to look a bit more respectable than the norm given the address he was provided.  Google Maps showed off a brand new tower overlooking Central Park, with prices for studios starting at a mere fifty times his yearly salary with the public school district.  He knew Leo worked in security, but splashing out that amount of money on a flat was literally insane in his mind.

     A few trains later, and he was emerging out of the 59th and Columbus station with a case of beer under one arm and his GPS-enabled phone in the other hand.  The summer day was rather warm for New York, and the polo shirt was making him sweat despite its advertised breathability.  Thankfully the walk to the tower itself was short, and after a wary side-eye at the sight of his mutant self entering the lobby, he was enjoying the elevator ride up toward Leo’s new pad.  It was only now that he felt his heart beating in his chest, a bit of unease bubbling in his gut.  Leo had always been his friend, sure, but was the gap between them always this wide?  Did he deserve to be here at all? Or to be friends with someone so successful?

     The quiet ding of the elevator yanked him back to reality, suppressing his own doubts as he strode off the car and into the…foyer?  With the elevator and emergency stairs behind him, Raphael was perplexed at the sole set of double-doors directly before him, Leo’s apartment number on a plaque to their right.  Come to think of it, the apartment number listed was 2000…did that mean Leo owned the whole floor?!  Raphael began to panic slightly, fearful he was on the wrong floor, or in the wrong building, or that this was all some elaborate-

     “Raph!  You made it!” Leo’s sweet voice called from the doorway as the turtle flung the heavy doors aside, Raphael feeling his shorts tighten as his best friend greeted him while stark naked.  “Great! I see you brought some alcohol for yourself.  Let me go put this in the fridge for you.”  Raphael couldn’t respond as the beer was taken from him, Leo’s bare ass swinging teasingly at him as the turtle headed back inside.  “Shoes off, please!”

     “Am I early?”  Raph called from the doorway, kicking his sneakers off and tucking them just inside the front door, glancing around the well-appointed apartment.

     “Not at all!” Raphael both hated and loved Leo’s voice.  He hated how it always had that intonation of superiority to it, yet he loved how firm, decisive, and downright sultry it could be.  He followed the sweet voice to the kitchen, Leo bent over at the waist with his rump on full display, cans of beer being loaded into the fridge.  Raphael let his eyes carefully study the lines and curvature of Leonardo’s physique, that smooth skin and prime muscle reflecting decades of diligent martial arts practice and study.  It was a stark contrast to the thick and heavy muscle Raphael built on his own body, opting for raw power over focused strength.  He flicked his eyes up along Leo’s thighs, studying how the muscle flexed and relaxed with even the slightest movement, the turtle very much in perfect sync with his body even with such a casual task. “What’s on your mind?”

     “Naked.”  Raphael blurted out, snapping upright from his leering position on the counter and correcting himself.  “Nothing! Nothing. Just…this is your place, huh?  It’s, ah, impressive.”  He pulled his gaze away from Leo as the turtle closed the refrigerator door and began breaking down the cardboard, pretending to look over the room decor.  “I thought you did security, though?  Bit much for a guard salary, right?”

     “For a guard, sure, but not for the Chief Security Officer of the largest bodyguard service in the Americas.”  Leo’s voice had subtly switched from sultry to superior, bragging about his accomplishments.  “I oversee training, certification, and physical security operations for our six thousand staff throughout North and South America.”

     “And I teach gym class for PS 235.” Raphael offered a snark rebuttal, jumping as Leo’s hand fell on his shoulder.  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to sound like a dick.”

     “It’s quite alright, Raph. It’s perfectly natural for friends to take separate paths in life. That doesn’t make either one better than the other, necessarily.” Raphael relaxed as Leo circled around his right side, coming on close and squeezing at Raph’s hips.  “Your work is far more important than mine, I think. I just protect a bunch of rich people. You actually help inner city kids get into shape and better themselves.”  Raphael couldn’t help but smile a bit, blush brightening his cheeks as Leo pecked a kiss there.  “Now then, why are you so jumpy today?”

     Raphael swallowed hard, averting his eyes from Leo’s as his blush intensified.  “Well, uh, yer naked.”

     “So?”  Leo’s tone was palpable, making Raph even more flustered.  “You’ve seen it all before.”

     “Yeah, but only when we fuck.”  Raphael’s voice cracked a bit, Leo breaking into a grin.  “W-what?  Why you grinnin’ at me like that?”

     “Because I love how your Brooklyn accent shines when you’re flustered like this.  Because you’re so prudish about wearing clothing, even when you’re home alone.”  Leo leaned on his tip toes as Raphael backed away, kissing under Raph’s chin with a churr.  “Because this is my house, and I dress how I damn well please.”

     “You, uh…”  Raphael stammered, his gaze flicking to the windows, blinds wide open with skyscrapers abound nearby.  “P-people could…”

     “See?” Leo ran his hands under Raphael’s shirt, massaging at the brute’s plastron.  “They could see me, naked in my own home, feeling up another terrapin like myself in my kitchen.”  Raphael pressed back against the countertop as Leonardo went for a kiss, their lips pressing tightly to each other for just a moment.  “They could see me kissing you.”  Raph felt his pants loosen as his fly was undone, Leo’s fingers pulling the fabric apart and sinking to his knees.  “Or see me undressing you.  Or even…”  Leo trailed off teasingly, letting his tongue finish the statement for him by probing Raphael’s genital slit, the emerald brute biting down on his index finger and groaning at the attention.  He glanced down at Leo as the turtle coaxed his cock out of its pouch by tongue alone, moving his hands to grip at the countertop.

     “Y-yeah, exactly…”  Raphael choked out the meager protest, Leonardo pausing to smirk up at him.

     “Good. I want them to see.”


	2. Prompt #2: Mike/Raph, Strip Club AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Setting:   
> Strip Club
> 
> Genre:  
> Angst 
> 
> Trope:   
> Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics 
> 
> Prompt:   
> Sharing a bed by necessity 
> 
> Kink:   
> Cockrings

     The roaring crowd and heavy bass of the strip club faded as Michelangelo bounded down the stairs to the basement, sweat dripping from his skin to the dingy carpet beneath his feet.  Saturday nights were always a blast for him, but ever since his promotion to headliner for the entire club, Michelangelo had been having way more fun and made way, way more money.  He flounced into the dressing area and slapped the ass of the next dancer in line, a typical human male in a police outfit.  “I got ‘em all warmed up for you, so you’d better empty their wallets!”  The human waved a hand dismissively at the turtle as Mikey headed down another set of stairs into the sub-basement, shoving the door open with his shoulder.  “I’m back, bitches!”

     “Welcome back, Master.” A chorus of voices called out in response, Michelangelo frowning as he detected a tone of frustration from at least one of the other terrapins.  The olive turtle with a purple collar, Donatello, had quickly cornered Mikey with a towel in hand and dabbed away the sweat.  Another terrapin, this time with a blue collar contrasting his leafy green skin, offered him a water bottle.  “How was your performance tonight, Master Michelangelo?”

     “Great! I pulled in an extra six hundred tonight, which I believe puts me at Alpha again.”  Michelangelo didn’t break his stride as he weaved between the tight confines of the basement space, fingers plucking a golden cock ring from the toy shelf and slipping it down to the base of his shaft.  “Aaaaand seeing as how it’s the end of the month, let’s do the tallies, shall we?  How did my betas do this time?”

     “My monthly total was just shy of twenty-eight hundred, Master.”  Leonardo spoke, kneeling to the side of the Alpha’s armchair and keeping Michelangelo’s water bottle ready.  “My sensual dances cannot compare to your feverish performances, I’m afraid.”

     “I brought in six grand!”  Donatello chirped happily, kneeling at the opposite side of the chair and twirling a finger beneath his purple collar.  “Which puts me above Leonardo for eight months running.”  Michelangelo rubbed at Donatello’s head as he took a seat in the chair, his gaze falling to an emerald turtle curled up in bed, a studded black collar chained to an overhead rail.  He took the water from Leo and quenched his thirst, letting an uncomfortable silence linger before addressing the petulant Omega.

     “Raphael~” His sing-song voice called out to the fourth, the terrapin wincing at his name being called out.  “I don’t see anything from you this month on the chart.  How much money did you pull in for our little family?”

     “Nothin’.”  The voice may have been quiet, but its insubordination was unmistakable.

     “What was that?  Come here and join your betters, and tell me what you earned this month.”  Michelangelo attempted to coax him off the bed, Raphael only curling tighter.  “NOW, OMEGA!”  He watched the emerald turtle wince before slowly climbing off the bed, the chain attached to his collar rattling and squealing as it wheeled along the overhead rail and kept him on a very narrow, defined path to the chair.  He kneeled before Michelangelo, his lips just inches from the erect length and its glittering base.  “How much did you contribute this month, Raphael?”

     “Nothing, Master.”  Raphael’s eyes remained on the floor as he spoke, knowing what being last in the family meant.  “B-but only because you won’t let me perform!  I can do better! I can-” Michelangelo gripped Raphael’s cheeks tightly in his hands and quietly shushed his brother, leaning forward in the chair.

     “You do perform, once a week, every Tuesday.  You pull in no money because you just cannot dance, and yet we still give you purpose, do we not?  We still love you, and care for you, and protect you…do we not?”  Raphael nodded meekly in Michelangelo’s grasp, Leonardo and Donatello smiling softly at their big, strong sibling.  It wasn’t Raphael’s fault that his heavy muscle got in the way of his dancing, that he wasn’t as flexible as Michelangelo, or as graceful as Leonardo, or as innovative as Donatello.  “Come here.”  Michelangelo leaned back in his chair and pulled Raphael’s head with him, guiding the turtle down the length of his cock until Raph’s lips grazed the cock ring.  “That’s my Omega.  Good boy.”

     Raphael grunted pleasantly around the erection as he serviced his Alpha’s needs, Michelangelo keeping a tight grip on his Omega’s smooth scalp and guiding him as needed.  “As I suspected, I am the Alpha again this month.  Donatello will be the Beta, and Leonardo, I want you serving Donatello’s every need.  The Holidays are upon us, and wallets will be tight, so we all need to do our part.”  The Betas nodded affirmatively, Raphael’s amber eyes gazing up at Michelangelo.  “Oh, and throw out the Omega’s bedding.  The Alpha and Omega will sleep together from now on, as will the betas sleep together.  For…bonding purposes.”  Raphael whimpered around the length shoved into his mouth, Michelangelo reaching down to clip the front of that studded collar to the base of his cock ring, keeping the Omega turtle in check.

     It was good to be the Alpha.


	3. Prompt #3: Don/Mike, Sex Store AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Setting:   
> Sex Store
> 
> Genre:  
> Plot What Plot 
> 
> Trope:   
> Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics 
> 
> Prompt:   
> Hot lazy summer days; steamrooms; sweat-slick skin; tempers rising with the temperature 
> 
> Kink:   
> Gags (ball-gags, scarves, mouth bits, etc)

     Donatello fanned himself with a leather paddle, haunched over the register and dripping with sweat.  It was bad enough that the city was enduring an unprecedented heatwave, but with an afternoon humidity in the low seventy percentile and a broken air conditioner, it felt like he was living in hell instead of the Bronx.  Trying to sell sex toys to customers on a day like today was nigh impossible.  Who would want a dildo, handcuffs, or paddle instead of a bucket of ice or a high-volume fan on a day like today?

     The telltale jingle of the door bell made him whimper at the mere thought of a client, his heart sinking as he saw Raphael through the CCTV monitor next to the cash register.  Great, _of course_ the boss was here on the absolute worst day of the week.  He buzzed the emerald terrapin inside, quirking his brow at the large duffel bag slung over Raph’s shoulders.  “Donnie!  How’s my favorite boy doin’ today?”  The turtle was chipper, even _jovial_ , with a spring in his step and a grin on his beak.  Donatello waved a hand dismissively, shaking the sweat from his head.

     “Terrible, Sir.  The AC is broken, this heatwave is keeping customers indoors, and my clothes are absolutely drenched in sweat.”  Don took a step away from the counter and straightened upright, his cotton tank top damp with perspiration and clinging to his skin.  He punched a code into the register to pop open the drawer, the morning bank untouched within.  “Not one sale.  You’re the first living person I’ve seen all day.”  Raphael leaned over the counter and slammed the drawer shut before dropping the duffel bag to the floor with a grunt, striding around the counter to pat Donatello’s shell.

     “Hey, hey now, it’s not your fault Dee.  Yer my best employee, I ain’t gonna hold you accountable for da fuckin’ weather!”  Raph pulled Donatello into a hug despite the olive terrapin’s grumpy state, giving Don’s ass a firm swat with his open palm as he broke the embrace.  “Well hey, if the shop ain’t don’ well, then why doncha close up ‘till night?  Yer workin’ a double anyway, right?”

     Donatello nodded cautiously.  “Yeah…Michelangelo blew off his shift, _again,_ but you’re seriously okay with me closing up till dark?”  Raphael nodded, palming a twenty into Don’s hands and tipping his ball cap.

     “Of course!  Consider it a mini-vacation since Mikey kept you from going with your boyfriend on that beach trip.”  Donatello grumbled audibly at being reminded of his current predicament, and the fact that the only reason he was here was because Michelangelo couldn’t be trusted to come in for his shifts on the slow days.  Leonardo had planned to take him down to the Jersey Shore for his weekend and hang out with some friends, but then Michelangelo _conveniently_  got sick the day they were supposed to leave.  With Raphael scheduled to be out of town at a SExpo and schmoozing with ‘clients’, it meant responsible Donatello got the shaft and had to cover.  “Use that to get yerself some pizza and cold soda or somethin’.  Relax.”

     “Thanks Sir.”  Raphael spanked Don’s rear and kissed the turtle’s cheek before heading back to the front door, turning the open signage off and pulling the shutter down behind him.  “Hey, uh, what about your bag?”

     “Consider it a gift!  Was gonna take it with me, but I don’t think the TSA would let me carry it on the plane.”  Raph ducked under the shutter and waved to Don once again before pulling it closed, leaving the olive turtle befuddled, but grateful.  He took a lap of the store and turned off the lights for the time being, pulling the shutters closed and sticking a “BACK @ 8″ sign on the front door.  One phone call to the local pizza joint later, and Don found himself reclining behind the counter with his shirt off, fly open, and cock out, stroking himself idly and looking at nudes of Leo on his phone while waiting for the delivery driver.

      _Consider it a gift!_

Don had almost immediately forgotten about the duffel bag on the other side of the counter, too preoccupied with a break and free food to remember the super-rare gift Raphael had brought him.  Their boss wasn’t known for being generous, but whatever was inside that bag was definitely something good.  With one hand keeping his shorts up around his waist, Donatello shuffled round the counter, grabbed the bag’s handles, and dragged it along the floor to his chair, determined to unpack its contents in comfort.  A photo of Michelangelo was taped to the zipper, the turtle making a lewd sexual gesture to the camera with a candid shot of Leonardo in the background, clearly taken during one of his boyfriend’s visits to the store.  He growled at the thought of Michelangelo doing anything lewd to his Leo, and had yelled at the smaller turtle several times for trying to ‘get in his pants’.

     He ripped the photo off and tossed it onto the counter with a huff, yanking the zipper open.  “Holy shit.”  He gasped aloud, finding Michelangelo’s sweaty, hot body bound and gagged inside the bag, those aqua eyes staring back at him and silently begging for help.  Don quickly zipped the bag back up, Michelangelo’s whimpers muffled by the heavy fabric.  His fingers plucked the photo from the counter and turned it around, the boss’ handwriting explaining his new ‘gift’.

      _Got tired of the little shit dumping shifts on ya, so imagine my fury when I found him prepping to board the train to Jersey with yer beau.  Locked him up good for ya, and I got the only sets of keys, so don’t try getting nicey-nice with ‘im.  He’s the new store bitch, and yer gift is breakin’ his ass in while I’m out.  Just keep him watered, and I’ll be back tomorrow night.  Enjoy your double shifts, my new Beta._

     Don grinned wide and slowly opened the bag once more, helping lift Michelangelo out of it and onto his knees.  The boss had bound him up good, with locking cuffs keeping his arms pinned behind his shell, a ring gag strapped tightly around his head like a harness, and similar locking cuffs around his thighs keeping those legs together.  Donatello smirked at the sight of the nervous and whimpering terrapin, yanking Mikey’s head around to get a better look at the padlocks used.  “Wow, electronic ones.  Boss spared no expense on his new bitch.”  Michelangelo yelped at the title, Donatello grinning wide as he held the photo up for Michelangelo to see.  The smaller turtle shook his head in defense, only for Don to flip the photo around and let Mikey really drink in just how fucked he was.  “Not my call.  You know quite well how nice and lenient I am, but it seems boss has other plans for you.”  Donatello tossed the photo onto the counter and kicked the bag aside, watching Michelangelo squirm and writhe as he tried to get free.  Still stroking his growing erection, Don plunged his other hand past the ring gag and into Michelangelo’s throat, churring as the thick fingers slid right in like a fleshlight.  “Holy shit, you really are a cock slut, aren’t you?”  The smaller turtle didn’t even tense up or gag, instead relaxing and letting Don wiggle those digits around before pulling them back out and shaking off the drool.

     Inching his chair forward and holding Michelangelo’s head tight, he guided the smaller turtle’s gagged-mouth down on his length, churring as that moist opening enveloped his sensitive cock.  Michelangelo didn’t fight or resist it, a suppressed churr of his own vibrating in his throat and making Don fidget in turn.  He smiled down at Mikey and caressed the new slave’s head, giving the padlock a jingle.  “Don’t you worry, I’ll take good care of you until boss gets back.”  Michelangelo grunted as Don pushed all the way inside, squeezing his thighs around Mikey’s head and thrusting.  “Mnnn.  I’ll take _very_  good care of you, bitch.”


	4. Prompt #4: ???/???, Crime Fiction AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Setting:  
> Modern AU
> 
> Genre:  
> Crime Fiction
> 
> Trope:  
> Secret Identity 
> 
> Prompt:  
> Hot lazy summer days; steamrooms; sweat-slick skin; tempers rising with the temperature 
> 
> Kink:  
> Spanking

     “Name?”

     “Casey Jones.” The desk worker confirmed the name matched the offered ID card, and scribbled some notes into his ledger before handing it back to the visitor.

     “All set. Changing room is on your left.”  Casey took his card back, his finger sliding over a corner where the laminate was peeling off.  He made a note to tell forensics in his next report, but the dirtied card would more than suffice for a beer or a bathhouse.  Tucking the card into his wallet and shoving open the changing room door, he kept his head down while quickly scanning the room for occupants.

     He spied a lean, aqua-skinned turtle getting undressed at the edge of the locker room, tattoo sleeves covering his arms with intricate, video game-inspired designs.   _Game Freak, aka, Michelangelo Hamato._ Michelangelo ran the syndicate’s gaming enterprise, from legitimate eSports to underground casinos.  The terrapin was short, lanky, but still in fantastic shape.  Originally a pro skateboarder who got dragged into the criminal life on the promise of sex, money, and drugs.  Not the sharpest knife in the drawer, according to intel, but still the left arm of the Hamato crime family.

     Casey steered clear of the turtle, undressing himself at the deep end of one of the aisles.  He took care to hang his clothes neatly on the provided hanger, adjusting the shoulders of his jacket so that they didn’t wrinkle the dress shirt beneath. He took pride in his suit, the outfit giving an outward appearance of a professional while hiding the substantial ink he acquired for his assignment.  His own arms had weaves of beautiful, flowing lines, as if done not by a common tattoo artist, but a professional calligrapher.  Just because his assignment called for ink didn’t mean it had to be trashy.  Stepping out of his dress pants and blue underwear, he felt vulnerable for the first time, all of his concealed weapons tucked into the lining of his clothes and no longer accessible once he entered the bathhouse proper.

     “DUDE!” Casey winced at the shouting of Michelangelo nearby, keeping to himself as he heard the slick footsteps of the terrapin behind him.  “Where the fuck have you been, huh?!”  A slamming of metal accompanied a nervous whimper nearby, Casey ducking his head down and casually strolling to the showers, ignoring the turtle’s shouting.  “You’re late, asshole.  What the hell?”

     “You’re one to talk. I suggest you keep it down.”  Casey bristled at that voice, stepping into a vacant stall and turning on the spigot.  He chanced a glance in the mineral-stained metal of the temperature handle, a blurred visage of an olive-skinned creature just barely visible in the distorted finish.  “No business in the locker room.  Come on.”  Casey feigned ignorance, using the communal soap to lather his body up throughout before washing off.  Sticky footsteps echoed on the tile behind him prior to other showers turning on, likely the other two showering off before soaking or steaming as well.  He heard one shower turn off shortly after it was engaged, more wet footsteps circling behind him and stopping just shy of the next stall, Casey’s neck tensing in fear.   _Had he been made?  No, of course not.  Just wash off, and go soak like you planned._

     He turned the shower off and spun around, Michelangelo’s head quickly snapping back to looking into the stall next to his own.  Casey pretended he didn’t notice, muttering an “Excuse me” as he pushed past the lanky turtle and into the locker room once more, heading out the exit door with a confident stride.   _He’s definitely suspicious.  If that’s Don he was with, then I’m in trouble._

     The room adjacent to the changing and shower area was a large hall, a series of twin soaking tubs arranged in four rows, each row containing a dozen tubs.  All told, it easily had room for 96 persons if fully occupied, which meant he had space to spread out away from his targets.  A few steam rooms dotted the end of the hall, though they appeared to be unoccupied.  Come to think of it, the entire hall had less than a dozen people in it, despite it being a weekday evening.   _This isn’t right._   Casey chose the third row and walked about halfway down, sliding into a vacant tub with a sigh of relief.  The hot water lapped at his stressfully sore body as he sank down into its depths, the mineral mixture of the water tugging at the dead skin cells and exfoliating his husk.

     It wasn’t long before the locker room door creaked open once again, and Casey’s relaxing soak came to an abrupt end.  Michelangelo was accompanied by a tall, lean turtle with olive skin, sporting sleeve tattoos resembling a circuit board schematic.   _Mastermind, aka, Donatello Hamato_.  Donatello controlled the group’s technology and finance division, handling cryptocurrency mining, communication encryption, and loan sharking under the guise of their ‘investment banking’ shell corporation.  He carried a PhD in Mathematics from MIT, lending him and the organization surface credibility, and had a knack for sniffing out moles within the organization.  Casey grimaced as they talked to each other and made their way down the row next to his, sliding into tubs just a few meters away from his own and definitely within earshot.  His saving grace was that neither seemed to pay him any mind, and that Donatello sat with his back to him.  Whereas Donatello was known to be discreet, Michelangelo was anything but, and it showed.

     “You see the ink on that guy?  All fancy and shit.”  The aqua turtle jumped into the empty tub with a splash, Donatello’s body language a stone mask from behind.  “So why are we here, anyway?”

     “The boss has some concerns about membership, and wanted to meet on neutral ground.  We have nothing to worry about.”  Casey groaned and sank deeper into the hot bath, the water bubbling as his lips sank beneath the surface.

     “Then why the fuck am I here?  I had a _date_ , D.  This perfectly sculpted hottie-”

     “You can drop the act, Michelangelo.  Have you forgotten my reach?  I’m the one who vetted that little bunny boy of yours before we let you two get serious.”  Michelangelo glared before clamming up, shooting a glance at Casey before forming a wry grin.

     “At least I’ve got one, unlike the resident brainiac.  When was the last time you got laid, anyway?”

     “Unlike you, I don’t need sex to define my existence.”  Donatello visibly bristled for the first time, thrusting a finger at Michelangelo.  “Do not bring it up again, lest you incur my wrath.”

     Michelangelo waved his hands in mock fear, snorting.  “Bitch please, I have seen your early porno vids.  You are hardly above sexual escapades.”  Don snarled at the other turtle and waved his hand dismissively, turning his head to look at the steam rooms and give a nod.

     “Boss is in.  Let’s go.”   _Wait, what? When did the boss arrive?!_   Casey pretended to be asleep in the tub as the two turtles stepped free of the bath, listening to their slick footsteps on the tile floors echo down a row towards the saunas.  He waited a few moments before opening his eyes again, scurrying back against the tub wall as Michelangelo’s face was inches from his own, albeit upside down.

     “You too, cutie.”  A sharp pain pierced the back of his head seconds before Casey blacked out, slumping unconscious in the water.

* * *

     When he came to again, a throbbing headache served as his greeter to consciousness.  His body felt limp and difficult to move, and uncomfortably hot on top of that.  Casey opened his eyes, his blood running cold as the naked crotch of a terrapin plastron was just centimeters from his nose.  He tried to move his limbs, but quickly found his legs had been spread apart at the ankles by some stiff object and rope, while his wrists were tied tightly to support beams of the sauna bench, stretched out to his sides.  “Mornin’, sunshine.”  The voice was low and rugged, a distinct New York accent on the tongue.  Casey pivoted his head left and right very slowly to avoid worsening his headache, emerald skin filling his vision along with the rough and scarred plastron before him.  “What’s yer name?”

     “C-casey.”  A finger brushed beneath his chin and tilted it up, silently demanding a full answer.  “Casey Jones.”

     “Interestin’ name.”  The finger departed his jaw and was replaced with slow, sensual rakes over his arms, tracing the curvature of the tattoo lines over his muscles.  “Where’d ya get these?”

     “Japan.  When I was in the Navy.  Thought they looked cool.”  There was chuckling to his left, matching Michelangelo’s stifled snort earlier.  He wasn’t alone with his captor, that’s for certain.

     “Most places don’t do this kinda work.  Usually only Yakuza get ‘im.”  The fingers pinched and rubbed at the skin, seeing the ink was indeed permanent.  “You Yakuza?”  Casey shook his head.  “Finally, an honest answer.”  He swallowed hard at the implication that he had been lying up until that point, the fingers removing themselves from his arms and settling on the thighs surrounding his skull.  “What brings ya to the bathhouse?”

     “Wanted to relax.”  Silence fell between them for a moment, a sharp pain on his exposed rear accompanying a loud crack of wood against flesh.  Casey yelped in both surprise and pain as he was spanked, tugging again at his bonds.  The captor in front of him moved one hand to stroke at his cheek, thumb rubbing against Casey’s lips in a lewd manner.

     “Every time you lie to me, I will punish you.”  The accent was suppressed as the turtle spoke slowly and carefully to him, his thumb pressing past Casey’s lips and up against his teeth.  “If you tell me the truth, then I will reward you.”  The hand on the other thigh departed for a moment, something heavy sliding along the bench before the telltale click of a hammer made Casey genuinely fearful for his life.  He felt the warm steel of a gun against the top of his head, his heart racing.  “If you lie to me six times, you die.  Am I clear?”  Casey nodded meekly, testing the bonds on his wrists and wriggling carefully there, trying to find any give in the material or bench that he could use to get free.  “Good.  Now ‘den, what’s yer name?”

     “Casey Jones.”  There was a sigh followed by a click of the hammer on an empty chamber, the pistol cycling to the next as the trigger was pulled a second time.  Just as he was mentally making note of the double-action revolver pressed to his head, another swat fell against his ass.  Then another.  And another.  Ten swats in all, Casey holding back cries and tears in an effort to keep his composure.

     “Why are ya here?”

     “I w-wanted to r-relax!  Honest!”  The double-click of the revolve signaled another callout on his lies, wood connecting with his ass for twenty more swats in turn.  He couldn’t keep composure this time around, going limp in his bonds and trying to squirm away.  Even as he struggled in vain, his captor’s plastron slit began to swell with arousal, the scent of sex definitely on the air in the thick atmosphere of the sauna.   _Was he getting off to this?_

     “Look, I already know the answers.  My right hand man, Donnie?  He knows everything about ya.  He knows what ya had for lunch three weeks ago in Haneda, he knows what high school ya went to, he knows that yer alone in ‘dis, with no wifey or kiddos waitin’ on ya’s to come home.  You failed, but that ain’t yer fault.”  Those thick fingers pushed into his maw as he cried, probing at his tongue, teeth, and throat in turn.  “Just tell me da truth, and I promise - I swear - you won’t ever come ta harm ever again.”  Casey nodded around the fingers in his mouth, the digits retreating so he could respond once again.   _He’s not bluffing.  He’s not leading me on, he’s not pulling my chain, this isn’t some sick initiation ceremony.  My cover isn’t just gone, it never existed._ “Now den!  Let’s try one more time.  Why are you here?”

     Casey bit down on his lip for a moment, hesitating to answer until wood pressed against his reddened and stinging rear.  “I was sent here.”  A firm, albeit weaker swat connected with his ass, not-so-subtle encouragement to be explicit in his response.  “I was sent here to spy on a man named Raphael.”  There was a churr from the turtle before him as the man’s cock peeked from its protective pouch, dropping out into the sticky air and hovering in front of Casey’s face.

     “Good boy.  Was that so hard?”  Casey shook his head, the slick fingers that were probing his jaw just a moment ago now stroking the length to full erection.  “Why were you sent to spy on dis Raph person?”

     “He’s supposed to be the boss of this local gang.”  Casey confessed, finding no give in his restraints after several minutes of struggle.  “My superiors wanted information.”  Those thick fingers grabbed the dick and pushed its head against his lips, Casey whimpering as he pulled away.  The scent of male musk was intoxicating, and even as he struggled to resist, he found arousal bubbling up within his own nethers after that most recent spank.

     “It’s okay, you can suck it if ya like.  No biting, though.”  Casey ignored the offer, watching as the cock was sensually stroked and edged.  “Who do ya work for?”  Casey wrenched his eyes shut, hesitating again.  Another firm sweat on his stinging ass cheeks forced a groan from his throat, a few chuckles heard in the sauna.  “Come on now, I already know da answer.”

     Casey gritted his teeth.  “The police.”

     “Called it!  Nobody gets tats like his except a piggy.”  Michelangelo teased, fingers moving from the engorged cock to stroke at Casey’s cheek soothingly.

     “Michelangelo, you should show some respect to our dear guest, here.”  The pre-stained thumb pushed into Casey’s mouth far more willingly this time, and he found himself sucking gently on the presented digit while the duo bickered.

     “Why should I? So the cops found some faggy little cooter, inked him up, and sent him out to die.  Just put the poor guy out of his misery already!”  Michelangelo snapped, Casey whimpering even more at the hurled insults.

     “ENOUGH!”  His captor bellowed loud enough to make Casey’s ears ring, quickly setting the gun down to his side and using that hand to soothingly stroke the top of his head.  “If you had bothered to actually talk with your brothers instead of taunting them, you’d actually know who this ‘faggot’ is, Michelangelo.”  The thumb plucked free of his jaw, both hands sliding over and squeezing his cheeks.  “Why don’t you tell us who you are?”  Casey’s blood ran cold, fearful of what that answer will bring.  “Hey, I promised no harm would come to ya if you told da truth.  Trust me.”

     Casey sighed, arms again going slack in their bonds.  “P-please…I don’t want to lie, but if you know the truth, don’t make me answer that question.”  A firm sweat connected with his ass, the sting making him whimper even as the force struck just the right balance between pleasure and pain.  “Please, I’m begging you.”  He strained his head to try and face his captor, one hand covering his nose and pinching the nostrils shut just as another swat connected with his rear, his own cock dropping free and quickly becoming engorged.  “Don’t make me confess, please!”  His captor shushed him quietly by covering his mouth, leaving Casey him airless as the tormentor behind him broke into a fit of spankings, each swing of the wooden beam making him whimper and moan into the rough hands smothering his face.  He could feel his cock bob in the moist air as his torment persisted, lungs beginning to burn for air as his last, meager resistance was beaten out of him.  Tears ran down his cheeks as the count sailed past thirty, forty, fifty swings of the makeshift wooden paddle, his skin screaming with pain even as his nerves pushed pleasure into his loins, pre dripping from the tip of his cock and onto the wood beneath.  The spanking stopped at seventy swings, the hands releasing his face and letting gulps of air fill his lungs once again.  As drool dripped from his chin and tears stained his cheeks, his eyes fell on the still erect member dangling in front of his face.  In that instant, wrecked with pain and dripping with pleasure, did his last hesitation fall.

     “Who are ya?”  Raphael asked, his fingers stroking the jungle green hue of his captive.

     “Leonardo Hamato.”  Leo croaked back, nuzzling meekly into Raphael’s crotch.  “I’m so sorry I left.”  Tears streamed freely down his cheeks as Raphael coddled his head, hushing his elder brother.

     “It’s okay.  Yer home now.”


	5. Prompt #5: Mike/Leo, Waxplay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Setting:  
> Art Gallery/Studio
> 
> Genre:  
> Plot What Plot
> 
> Trope:  
> Fake/Pretend Relationship
> 
> Prompt:  
> Vulnerability
> 
> Kink:  
> Waxplay

    Michelangelo churred as he and Leo embraced, lips locking fiercely together in a passionate kiss.  They had been anxiously awaiting this time for months, now, hours of privacy during which Michelangelo could finally demonstrate the depths of his love for Leonardo.  The two separated with a loud smack of wet flesh meeting air, blood pumping through Michelangelo’s loins and desperate to show arousal.  “You ready?”  Leo nodded, removing his arms from Michelangelo’s sides and stepping up onto the box behind him, doing some breathing exercises to calm himself and prepare for his act of devotion.  “Take your pose, and make sure you can hold it for an hour or more.”

    Leonardo swung his right arm outward to his side, arm straight and his palm bent upward, fingers pointing at the ceiling.  His feet slid shoulder-width apart as he dropped down, bending at the knees until they were perfect right-angles, his right foot pivoting to point towards his extended arm.  His torso twisted in the direction of his initial movement, his left arm coming down to his side and clenched in a fist, a giddy smile briefly crossing his lips before being pressed down into a line of determination and poise.  His pose complete, it was time for Michelangelo to begin his work.

    He had been stirring a bowl of special wax as Leo got into position, a recipe he had formulated in his spare time that inverted the traditional properties of candle wax.  Rather than be solid at cold temperatures, and liquid at higher ones, this wax remained liquid as long as it was kept cool, and only hardened at room temperature or above.  “This will be cold, but I need you to stay perfectly still.”  Leonardo nodded once but otherwise remained poised, Michelangelo taking the mixing stick from the bowl with a large dollop of wax and slapping it on Leo’s bare thigh.  The muscle spasmed as it was hit with cold liquid, though Leonardo’s superior control meant the initial quiver was all that could be seen, even as Michelangelo quickly smoothed the wax down into a thin, semi-transparent coating along the front of the thigh.  He waited for it to warm to Leo’s body temperature before he continued, watching the wax harden into a shiny, transparent shell that looked almost like polished stone, a devious grin creeping across his face.

    “Does it work?”  Leonardo asked, keeping his gaze forward and focusing on his pose.  Michelangelo had pitched this idea to him only a few weeks ago, of spending their first night together cementing their love through art.  He had listened bashfully as his little brother complimented his body’s form, sculpture, and grace during their kata movements, and asked if he could immortalize Leo in his favorite kata.  How could he say no to such a flattering request from his lover?

    “Mmhmm! Beautifully so.  Shouldn’t take me long to get you done.”  Michelangelo had stirred up another glob of wax from the bowl and attacked Leo’s left knee, smoothing the wax into its thin form around the entirety of the joint before repeating the process with the back of his thigh and the lower leg, his technique practiced and honed to the point he could easily smear the thick substance into shape within seconds of its application.  He worked quickly but precisely, smearing down any globs of wax until they were part of that same, thin sheet covering his brother, ending the left leg up at the plastron line before moving to the right leg next.  “You’re doing great, love.”  The compliment was forced, but sincere enough to keep Leo off guard while he worked.  The right leg went slightly quicker than the left, the hardened wax gleaming in the bright lights of his makeshift studio.

    Leo felt the wax solidify around his legs, squeezing comfortably tight at his skin while seemingly relieving the stress on his joints.  It felt like he was floating inside a shell, with the wax doing the grunt work of maintaining his pose.  Yet without looking, he couldn’t get a good idea of just how thick Mikey had been laying it on.  He focused his additional energy into keeping his arms and torso straight, feeling that wax smack and smear against his left arm curled against his side, its fist ready to strike forward with his next step toward the opponent.  The liquid wax tickled as it seeped in between his fingers and down along his palm, the stick smearing that same veneer up the arm to the elbow, another glob connecting the elbow to his shoulder.  It was moments before his arm was cemented into place, and Michelangelo had started working on his right arm extended before him.

    Michelangelo knew that it wouldn’t be long before Leo caught on to his plan, which meant he had to get this arm and shoulder joint finished quickly.  He drizzled the wax from the mixing bowl along the top of the arm in a line, using the stick to hastily smear and blend it against the skin and into its various lines and folds, working from the shoulder out to the palm and fingers.  In just sixty seconds, he had completed the entire limb, and locked down most of Leo’s joints in the process.  “Alright dude, let me get the bowl for your torso and head next.”

    “This feels really strong, Mike.”  Leo had been giving the wax gentle tests of hits strength, finding no give in the thin material.  “What’s this made out of?”  Michelangelo didn’t bother to give an accurate response, silencing his brother’s curiosity with a slap of wax on Leo’s taint.  “That’s freezing!”

    “Well yeah, dude, it’s only liquid when it’s cold.  Stay still!”  Michelangelo chided the elder sibling, smearing the wax substance into a thin veneer along Leo’s taint and rump, making sure to get down into the crevice of his buttocks.  Working the shell and sides went much smoother than the limbs despite their fine ridges and valleys, the hard and inflexible material of their carapace making it much easier for the wax to fill every recess.  He darted to Leo’s front and worked from his neck downward across the plastron, carefully smearing wax while Leo held his breath, lungs and chest expanded to their full size.  “I see you remembered your breathing techniques.”

    “Y-yeah.”  Leo was starting to get nervous as he found the wax was as unforgiving as stone, unable to do so much as crook a finger or flex a muscle, as if his body had been covered in cement.  His muscles didn’t ache, and he was able to relax inside the wax prison, but he was starting to get eager for his release.  “How much is left?”

    Michelangelo finished the plastron, leaving his brother’s pouch untouched for the moment.  “Neck and head next.  This is the uncomfortable part.”  Leonardo was hesitant when Michelangelo initially discussed covering his head as well as his body, but when he saw the forethought and planning his younger sibling had put into it, he quickly acquiesced.  The long breathing tubes went in first, running up Leo’s nostrils and up against his sinus cavity, with extra length sticking out beyond his beak so that wax couldn’t seal up his nose.  Next were a pair of contact lenses that forced his eyelids apart but would keep his eyes lubricated, Michelangelo insisting he wanted to look into his lover’s eyes when he finished.  He followed the accessories with quick slaps of wax between Leo’s eyes and over his beak, smearing it down to cover the front of his face and top of his head before moving to the mouth.  A slap of wax on the right side of Leo’s lips, followed by a flick of the wrist to the left, then the right again, and the liquid quickly silenced his brother as it hardened.  Michelangelo was home free, and Leo didn’t suspect a thing.

    Which was true.  As Leo felt his head and neck covered in that cold, slimy wax, he was eagerly anticipating the finished result.  His mind was so focused on the end of the process that he was taken by surprise as he felt that warm, slick tongue of his younger brother lap over his genital slit before digging into the protective pouch, his throat unable to churr with the hardened wax sticking to it like glue.  His arousal was definitely apparent though, as he felt blood rushing to his length and causing it to engorge, the entire pouch swelling with blood flow as he prepared to drop out and become erect.  As if to tease, he could feel Michelangelo slather his plastron with wax and smooth over his aroused nethers before such an erection could form, the heat of his loins solidifying the substance somewhat quicker than the rest of his body.

    Michelangelo carefully removed the box from beneath Leo’s feet and lowered him on to a more permanent pedestal, dripping pools of wax beneath each foot to fix it to the stand.  Taking a step back to admire his work, he churred in delight at the result of his plans.  Leonardo was perfect: the perfect brother, the perfect leader, the perfect fighter.  He was the perfect man, and Michelangelo felt compelled to preserve him forever like the masterpiece he was.  As he cranked up the lights and positioned the space heaters, he admired how the waxy material made his sibling glisten and glitter like an emerald, though such admiration was short lived as the intense heat drove him back to observe from afar.  What he never told Leo was that there was never to be a release from this shell, as the mixture was intended to be as permanent as marble after a fifteen minute cure at one hundred and forty degrees Fahrenheit.  The thermometer he had set between his brother’s feet showed 143F, just a few degrees higher than intended, but more than enough to preserve his masterpiece forever.  As the timer beeped and the heaters shut off, Michelangelo plucked the plastic tubes from his statue’s nostrils and threw them away, having carefully coated them with a thin film of wax before insertion so that as much exposed flesh as possible would be preserved.  A puff of hot air from Leo exhaling confirmed his brother was perfectly fine within his new home, a wave of relief settling on his shoulders as he was finally finished.

    Leonardo felt none of the heat, however, though he did grow concerned as the lights began to darken around him.  His eyes forced open, he could only stare perpetually forward and watch as Michelangelo darkened the studio before leaving entirely, plunging him into infinite blackness.   _Ha ha, another prank.  I’m hardly scared of the dark, Michelangelo, and I’ll make sure to pay you back for this little joke of yours._  Leo could wait as long as was needed for Michelangelo’s return, though as he occasionally struggled within the perfectly-formed cage of wax and stone, he hoped this joke didn’t last long.

* * *

     “Woah, Mikey, that is AWESOME!”  Raphael squealed, practically bounding over to the statue of Leonardo his brother had sculpted.  “Has Leo seen this?”

     “Nah.  Mr. Perfect ran off before I could show him.”  Michelangelo lied, admiring his masterpiece with a smile of satisfaction.  Capturing Mr. Perfect required all of his skills as master manipulator, engineering a vulnerability into the perfect turtle just so he could capture him forever.  What better trap than that of a lover looking for raunchy sex?

     “It looks just like Leo, right down to the coloration.  How’d you pull it off, anyway?”  Raphael’s hands rubbed along the statue’s lines, even poking against the immaculately detailed eyes.  Michelangelo hummed to himself as his gaze turned to Raphael’s own physique, licking his lips at the subtle flexing of Raph’s immense muscle mass.  If Leo had been the perfect turtle in proportions, Raphael was perfect in musculature.  He suppressed a churr as he glanced at the bowls stacked neatly in the corner, bags of mixing material still unused from his first project.

     “Trade secret, I’m afraid.”  Michelangelo grinned, grabbing a mixing stick with one hand.  “I could show you, if you like?  I’d love to make one of you, now that I’ve had practice.  I think I could really capture your muscles…perfectly.”  Michelangelo cooed, slithering up to Raphael and kissing his brother on the lips.

     Leo wanted to scream.  He wanted to warn Raphael away, to beg Michelangelo to free him from this torment.  He wanted to protect his brother from the weeks of feeding tubes he’d endured since his sculpting, of the eternal watch he’s had because of those accursed lenses keeping his eyes open.  He wanted to reveal Michelangelo’s manipulation and lies to the world, and to protect his family.

     Raphael blushed hotly at the kiss, stammering a bit.  “Y-you serious?”  Michelangelo smiled, Raphael gnawing on his lower lip a bit before nodding hesitantly.  “Sure.  Sure!”

     Michelangelo hid his face from Raphael by turning to Leo, a deviant grin plastered across his beak.  “Awesome.  Just strike a pose.”


	6. Prompt #6: Mike/Raph, High School AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Setting:  
> High School
> 
> Genre:  
> Angst 
> 
> Trope:  
> Enemies to Friends to Lovers 
> 
> Prompt:  
> Confessions (revelation of love/desire; of other secrets; truth or dare games, revealing truths when feverish) 
> 
> Kink:  
> Panties

     “ALRIGHT, THAT’S ENOUGH!”  The coach blew his whistle several times to break up a fight between two students, Leonardo and Raphael once again slugging it out in full view of the assembled class.  Michelangelo could only sigh at the sight, watching the grizzled old rat forcibly pull the two apart even as the class cheered them on.  “Both of you, stop this instant!”

     “He started it!”  Leo shouted, Raphael spitting a glob of blood and saliva to the gym floor as their teacher had an easier time pulling Leo away.  “I’m sick of him picking on Mikey!”  To be honest, Michelangelo was sick of it too.  What were initially confusing flirts from the big red meathead turned into a tug of war between his once-crush-now-enemy and his twin brother.  Even after Michelangelo began reciprocating the occasional advance, Leonardo would butt in and throw a punch, screaming about ‘honor’ or some bullshit.

     “I wasn’t pickin’ on anyone, ya big baby!”  Raphael jabbed his thumb toward his plastron in anger.  “He’s a grown man, let him defend himself if you ‘tink he’s bein’ bullied!”  As the threat of a second round began to loom over the cheering class, Michelangelo stomped on the bleachers and stood up, seething mad.

     “I am RIGHT HERE!”  The shouts died down, everyone’s attention suddenly on Mikey.  “I don’t need EITHER of you defending me!”  Raphael and Leonardo’s demeanor suddenly changed to one of shame, Leo shaking free of the coach and starting towards Michelangelo.  The smaller turtle met him halfway, a resounding crack echoing through the gymnasium as he slapped Leo across the face, gasps from the gathered crowd as Michelangelo shed his usual carefree attitude.  “Shut up!  I don’t want to hear it.  Go get changed, and then go to the Dean.  Coach was going to send your uppity ass there anyway.”  Leonardo tried to object, another crack connecting with his opposite cheek.

     “Yes, Mikey.”  The turtle slinked off, Michelangelo stomping toward Raphael only to be blocked by Coach Splinter.

     “Woah there, Mikester.  No more fighting today, okay?  I’ll take care of Ralph here.”

     “It’s Raph, not Ralph.”  Raphael corrected, a stern glance from both the teacher and Michelangelo making him regret speaking.  “Sorry.  I’ll uh, I’ll go change.”  Coach Splinter grabbed him by his shirt and spun him round, fingers tugging at Raphael’s lips to examine where the blood was coming from.

     “Like hell you will.  You’re going up to the nurse, now.”  The rat turned to Michelangelo, adrenaline fading now that the fight was over.  “Michelangelo, can you go grab his things and take them upstairs?  I don’t want those two in the same county right now, let alone the same locker room.”

     “Sure thing.”  Michelangelo pivoted on his heel, the sneaker squeaking against the polished floor.  He invaded the locker room, letting his rage slam open both double doors against the concrete walls.  Leonardo was up front with his shirt already off, his expression somber and regretful.  Michelangelo paid him no mind and spoke no words, extending his center finger upward and flipping him off when Leo tried to talk to him.  “Not now, asshole.”

     “Yes, now.  That hurt, Michelangelo.”  Leonardo’s voice was hoarse and meek, trying to coax Mikey off his own adrenaline rush.  “You didn’t need to hit me like that.”  Mikey turned down an aisle toward Raph’s gym locker, picking the cheap combination lock the school insisted on using in a flash.  Leonardo peered around the corner as he did so, eyes going wide.  “And you don’t need to rob him blind, either!”

     “Coach asked me to take his shit upstairs to the nurse.  Looks like you did some real damage this time, you moron.”  He began packing Raph’s gym bag with his clothes and school supplies, setting them down on the bench while he folded Raph’s outfit, trying to avoid wrinkles.  “And you didn’t need to hit Raph first.”

     “Why do you care? All he does is tease and bully you, and you never stop him!”  Leo’s voice began to raise, an angry glare killing that flame before it could fester.  “I’m just saying, you take his abuse every day, then you go home and cry about it every night.  I don’t want to see you like that.”

     Michelangelo laughed sadly, dropping the shirt to the floor and marching towards Leonardo.  “No, Leo, he doesn’t abuse me every day.”  He jabbed his finger into Leo’s chest, his brother wincing and stepping backward.  “In fact, he cares more about me than you seem to.  You hear me crying every night, but have you ever, _ever_  asked me why?”  Leonardo shook his head nervously, gulping as he expected another slap.  Michelangelo just sighed, shoulders slumping, and turned back towards Raph’s stuff on the bench.  “Exactly.  So stop fighting people when you don’t even know what you’re fighting over.”  Leonardo was left speechless as Michelangelo finished packing up, Mikey briefly breaking into his own locker for his orange hoodie and backpack before storming out of the locker room.

     By the time he made it to the nurse’s office, Raphael was already soothing a swollen jaw with an icepack.  The meathead gave a nervous wave from the examination table, Michelangelo smiling and mustering a weak smile for the brute.  “Thanks for not retaliating, Raph.”

     “Anything for you.”  Raph’s speech was slurred, Michelangelo pulling back on his opposite cheek to get a look inside.  “Just cut my cheek open and bruised my jaw.  I’m fine.”  Michelangelo set Raphael’s stuff down in an open chair, then leaned anxiously against the wall while the two sat in awkward silence.  “Why don’t you just tell him already?”  Mikey bit his lower lip, eyes staring at the floor.  “I don’t mind being a punching bag if it keeps you safe, Mike, but I think you should tell him.”

     “Tell him what, Raph?”  Michelangelo tensed, eyes watery as he fought back tears.  “That I’m gay?  That I’m in love with the man he’s always getting into fights with?  That I just want to be left alone and be happy for once in my life?”  Michelangelo seethed, sliding down against the wall until he was sitting on the linoleum floor.  Raphael hopped off the table and sat beside him, leaning against the leaner terrapin.

     “Well, yeah.  It’s what I did, minus the whole ‘leave me alone’ thing.”  Raph’s free hand reached down to squeeze Michelangelo’s tightly, Mikey tugging on his shirt collar to dab at his own tears.

     “My family is super conservative, you know that.  Mom and Dad are always asking me about girls in my class, like Venus, or April, or that foreign chick, Karen?  Karry?  Kylie?”

     “Karai.”

     “Yeah!  And it’s harder and harder to keep lying to their faces like that, you know?  Especially when…”  Michelangelo trailed off, Raphael completing his sentence with a gentle kiss on the cheek.

     “I know, babe, I know.”  Michelangelo leaned against Raphael, nostrils flaring at the scent of weed, blood and sweat lingering on the fabric.  It was a scent distinctly Raphael’s, and one he found comfort in.  “I know I sound like a broken record, but if you need a place to crash…”

     “Thanks, but the last thing I want is my family accusing you of rape.  You’re eighteen, I’m seventeen…it wouldn’t be pretty.”  Raphael chuckled weakly at the dark humor, Michelangelo attempting to lift his mood by kissing the exposed nape of his neck.  “Shame my birthday is after graduation, huh?  I wanted you to be my first.”

     “I still can be, you know.”  Raphael grinned, Michelangelo beginning to sit up straight.  “What?”

     “Not if you’re in the Army.  I won’t see you for years.”  Raphael sighed, banging his skull against the drywall.  That had always been the bigger issue, of Raphael joining the military right out of High School while Michelangelo went to college.  They’d never talked about it at length, namely because Mikey didn’t want to get in the way of Raphael’s own wishes in life, especially when he couldn’t even sort out what _he_ wanted.  “Sorry.  I try not to bring it up.”

     “It’s alright.  Guess you’ll just have to be my spouse, then.”  Raphael grinned, Michelangelo blushing a bright red.  “Uh oh, little Mikey is blushing.  Looks like I struck a good nerve.”

     “S-shut up!  We haven’t even dated yet, beef-for-brains.”  The two of them chuckled as Michelangelo gave Raph a gentle shove, the larger turtle making a dramatic scene about toppling over and sprawling along the floor.  Michelangelo laughed as Raph mockingly recited some Shakespeare for good measure, a comedic ‘Blegh!’ signaling the demise of Romeo Raphael.  “You’re such a goof.”

     “You love it.”  Raphael beamed proudly, reaching over for his gym bag.  “Mind if I change?”

     “That depends.  You wearing underwear under there, or would this constitute exposing yourself to a minor?”  Michelangelo rested his chin against his fists, leaning forward on the floor.  Raphael tugged the waistband of his gym shorts down, exposing the red boxers beneath.  “Aw, and here I was hoping for a cute jockstrap.”

     “Sorry, don’t want to expose myself to a minor.”  Raphael grinned mischievously as he undressed, tossing the gym outfit aside and pulling his jeans from the bag.  “You actually folded my stuff?”

     “I didn’t want them to get wrinkled.”  Michelangelo looked embarrassed, a firm ruffle of his noggin from Raphael removing any self-conscious doubt about doing so.  He watched Raphael get dressed, admiring the way his sculpted muscles bulged and stretched with even slight movements, that weight lifting physique definitely something he was attracted to.

     “What about you?”  Raphael interrupted Michelangelo’s day dreaming, the turtle shaking his head feverishly.  “Why not?”

     “I, uh…am not wearing any underwear…?”  Phrasing his response as a question did not help his believability, Raphael smirking as he silently called that bluff.  “I’m, uhm…”  He stammered, Raphael raising a brow inquisitively before doing the mental math and going wide-eyed.

     “You’re wearing them, aren’t you?!”  Raph exclaimed, Michelangelo’s face shifting from a shade of aqua to candy apple red in an instant.  “How do you like ‘em?”

     “They’re soft, like you said, and they hug my form nicely…”  Michelangelo confessed, rubbing the back of his head in embarrassment.  “I was going to show you in the locker room, until Leo cold-clocked you during class.”

     “I bet you look sexy in them, dude.”  Raphael was dying for a glance, even though that was out of the question.  “You’re like, the rare guy who can rock lingerie like that.”  Michelangelo covered his face with his hands, squeaking bashfully as his cheeks heated up.  “What?  C’mon, little Mikey, don’t hide from me like that!”

     “If you keep complimenting me, I am literally going to burn up from embarrassment!”  Michelangelo protested behind his hands, Raphael stooping down to rub and kiss the exposed top of Mike’s head.

     “Everything okay in here?”  The two turtles were startled from their gentle teasing and taunting, staring up at the Nurse like deer facing down an oncoming car.  “The Dean wants you in his office.”  Raphael and Michelangelo exchanged nervous glances for a moment, Michelangelo in particular worried about how much she had seen - or heard.  “Well, come on Raphael, off you go.  Sounds like Michelangelo needs some privacy.”

     “Oh!  Oh, uh, yeah, yeah he does, you’re absolutely right, yes ma’am.”  Raph hurriedly packed up his stuff and scooted out of the infirmary towards the Administrative offices, leaving behind a mortified Michelangelo to deal with the nurse.

     “So, uh…how much did you overhear?”  He croaked from his place on the floor, the nurse offering a warm smile along with a white envelope, a Red Cross stenciled on the front.

     “Enough to know you need one of these.”  Michelangelo accepted the envelope and turned it around, finding it sealed tight with an anti-tampering sticker on all seams.  “We call them our Crisis Youth kits.  Inside are two condoms, two packets of lube, an instruction card on proper use, and a card of phone numbers for LGBTQ support centers in the area.”  Michelangelo relaxed and resumed his gentle blush, holding the packet close to his chest.

     “Thank you ma’am.”

     “No problem, kid.  Always here if you need me.”  Michelangelo picked himself up and shoved the envelope into his backpack, hastily dressing himself once her back was turned.  A few zipper pulls later and he was back in his street clothes, bounding towards the door just as the class bell started to ring and feeling a bit more prepared to tackle the remaining challenges ahead.


	7. Prompt #7: Leo/Raph Mike/Don, Tattoo Shop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Setting:
> 
> Tattoo Shop
> 
> Genre:
> 
> Relationship Development
> 
> Trope:
> 
> Rivalmance
> 
> Prompt:
> 
> Sharing a bed by necessity
> 
> Kink:
> 
> Handcuffs/ Restraints
> 
> WARNING: darker than my usual stuff. Implied abduction, noncon/dubcon in places, but a happy ending at the end. Kind of a 180 from my normal puff pieces as of late, so you’ve been warned.

    “Welcome to Mike’s Inks and Drinks, where you can drink while we do your ink.”  Donatello rattled off dryly, sitting behind the counter and reading a small novel.  “What can I do for you today?”

    “The owner in?”  Raphael leaned over the counter to peek at the new kid, grinning wide as he spied the manacle locked around the poor boy’s leg and anchored to the counter.   _So that’s the fresh meat Mikey wouldn’t shut up about._

    “I am sure I can be of help to you, Sir.”  Donatello still didn’t bother looking up, licking his finger and flipping a page.  Raphael decided to have some fun with it, testing the kid’s capabilities with some old code words.

    “I’ll have a sex on the beach with a tramp stamp.”  Raphael smirked, Donatello not even flinching as he turned another page.

    “We don’t serve alcohol here, Sir, just sodas and smoothies and the like.”   _Really? Doesn’t even know the basics, huh_.  Raphael frowned, dropping the heavy duffel bag onto the ground with a hefty thud.  “We also don’t do ‘tramp stamps’.”

    “Sure you do, kid, you just gotta learn the ropes.”  Raphael leaned over the counter to tug down the top of Don’s book, grinning wide.  “Otherwise, _Padrone_ is going to weld that little cuff of yours shut to a chain in one of his _bancarelle di sesso_.”  Donatello dropped his book to the floor and went wide eyed, snapping to attention.  “That’s better.  Now then, I’ll ask you again: is the owner in?”

    “Yes Sir!  May I ask who is visiting him?”  The turtle was practically shaking in fear, Raphael savoring the sweet scent of terror in the air.  He gave his bag a kick on the floor, motioning to the back rooms.

    “Tell him _Herr Rot hat eine Asset-Übernahme_.  You can say that much, can’t you boy?”  Donatello nodded fiercely, hastily picking up the desk phone and parroting back the words Raphael had spoken. A loud clacking of plastic accompanied the olive turtle slamming down the phone with obvious anxiety, fiddling with his thumbs and keeping his gaze down.  “Now now, don’t you worry that pretty little head of yours.  How long have you been here?”

    “T-three weeks, Sir.”  Donatello stammered, Raphael giving him a mental undressing and licking his lips.  The terrapin was lanky and tall, not a lot of muscle on him, and easily rattled.  A very attractive combination for someone like Mikey.

    “RAPH!”  Michelangelo burst through a nearby doorway, covered head to toe in tattoos and wearing his trademark leather shorts and vest ensemble.  “It’s been too long.  Have you met my new boy, here?”  Raphael nodded, the two of them glancing over at Donatello who looked ready to hide in the deepest, darkest hole he could find.  “I trust he was good for you…?”

    “A little rusty in the verbiage, but I’m sure you have your reasons.”  Raphael jested, Michelangelo grinning wide and clapping his hands together.

    “Astute as ever!  This one, I’d rather not break.  He’s very good with the computer system here, and highly personable with our clientele.  Well, the ones he knows, anyways.”  Michelangelo flounced over to Donatello and pinched at the terrapin’s skin, frowning.  “Gotta tighten him up, though!  His skin is far too stretchy for my works.”  Donatello’s cheeks were on fire with humiliation, Michelangelo adding fuel in the form of a lewd grope of Don’s crotch.  “So, what did you need, sweetie?  If you’re looking for a hole, I’m afraid my boy here won’t be of much use.”

    “No, no, I actually have a purchase I need inventoried.”  Michelangelo beamed with delight, hastily bending down to unlock Donnie’s manacle from the counter and fasten it to his other ankle.  “Has he been trained?”

    “Nope, but no time like the present!  If you don’t mind, that is.”  Raphael smirked, the olive turtle clearly confused and nervous as Michelangelo released him from the counter.

    “As long as he doesn’t question your work, Mike.”  Raphael quipped, Michelangelo clicking his fingers with an ‘Ah-ha’ and reaching into a drawer behind the counter, pulling out a purple riding bit.  Donatello opened up without a word, Michelangelo shoving it behind his molars and buckling it tight behind his head, threading a simple padlock to make sure he couldn’t tamper with it.  “Ahh, much better.  They’re so chatty before training, aren’t they?”

    “Mmhmm!  You wanna take your purchase downstairs to the VIP room?  I’ll lock up here and cancel the appointments, while the boy gets my kit ready.”  Raphael nodded and hoisted up his bag with a grunt, Donatello scurrying off to fetch the aforementioned supplies with a shuffling of feet.  Michelangelo - not his real name, of course - was part of an extensive underground of ‘social services’ for people like Raphael and Donatello.  Certain ‘extreme’ power exchangers who went all the way and actually owned property, not people.  Case in point: while Raphael sat in a beautifully crafted lounge chair in an immaculately curated dungeon downstairs, Donatello was forced to stand in tattered jeans and a ripped t-shirt over in a corner, drool dripping down his chin from the bit locked in his jaw.  It wasn’t long before Michelangelo joined the duo, glancing around the room to make sure everything was in order.  “Alrighty then.  Ready to begin?”

    “Just about.  Thought you’d want to show the boy how these things normally go.”  Raphael’s smirk widened as he looked over towards Donatello, the gagged turtle still confused as to what was happening.

    “Aww, you want to scare him that quickly?”  Don squeaked, Raphael nodding again.  “Fine.  I suppose he’s going to learn sooner or later.”  Michelangelo yanked a protective sheet off the central table, exposing heavy chains and well-worn manacles welded to the floor beneath it.  Raphael grunted as he slammed his bag onto the table, a muffled cry coming from its confines.  “Oh dear, I hope you didn’t rough him up too badly.”

    “Nothing he couldn’t handle.”  Raphael unzipped the bag, another turtle curled up tightly inside of it, ropes biting into his flesh.  “Face up or down, first?”

    “Down, I want to get the number done first.”  Michelangelo stepped back from the table, snapping his fingers at Don.  “Grab his feet, and cuff him.  Shell side up, please.”  Donatello nodded, pulling the turtle’s feet out of the bag and stretching them down toward the foot of the table, Raphael grabbing the shoulders and head and lifting the terrapin free of the bag entirely.  The bound turtle squirmed and whimpered, fighting against the ropes securing him even as Don and Raph got to work flipping him onto his stomach and securing the manacles in place.  “He’s feisty.  A purchase?”

    “He knew what he was getting into.”  Raphael remarked coldly, making sure the steel cuffs were locked on before cutting the ropes free and pulling them from the turtle’s body.  His skin was raw and bloody in spots from where he struggled against the rope bindings, and the only thing keeping him from yelling for help was the thick gag of fabric secured in his jaw by duct tape wrapped repeatedly around his head.  “Isn’t that right, handsome?”  Raphael tickled the turtle’s chin, the terrapin glaring angrily at him.

    “You know the rules, Raph.  I gotta remove the gag first.”  Even in a world like theirs, rules were important.  Michelangelo was the final gatekeeper for a lot of these boys, and he took pride in going by the book.  A few slices through the thick layer of tape and a hearty rip yanked it free of the bound turtle’s head, Michelangelo wheeling around on a chair to sit face-to-face with his ‘customer’.  “Alright.  I’m going to ask you a few questions, and you’re going to answer them.  You show me some respect, and we won’t have any problems, understand?”  The turtle growled, but nodded.  “Good.  Name?”

    “Davin.  Davin Cignet.”  Davin’s voice was hoarse, his jaw still stiff from the fabric he’d been chewing on in Raph’s bag.

    “Family?  Friends?”

    Davin was silent for a moment before answering.  “None…and nobody knows I’m here except you three.”  Michelangelo looked up at Raph, the big brute giving a nod of confirmation.

    “Alright Davin.  Did you consent to total power exchange with Raph, here?”  Davin growled, glaring up at Raphael.

    “Yes.”  Davin sighed aloud, Raphael smirking over at Donatello as the olive turtle fidgeted in the corner.  “But not this!  I consented only if he won our bet-”

    “Doesn’t matter.  Once you consent, Raph is entitled to make the first move.”  Michelangelo corrected him.  “What was this bet, anyway?”

    Raphael folded his arms across his chest.  “Simple.  Which one of us could cum last.”  Davin yanked at the chains and tried to accost Raphael, Michelangelo hitting a foot pedal under the table in response.  A loud clank echoed in the room as a winch pulled the chains painfully tight, Davin ending up spread eagle on the table in a matter of seconds.  “Little shit and I have been making bets ever since we were in college.  Finally decided I’d had enough of the low stakes games, and wanted to add some spice to life.”

    “So I very well could’ve been marking you instead of him, Raph?”  Michelangelo grinned, snapping on some medical gloves and wheeling his supply cart over to the head of the table.  “That’s a dangerous game, you know.”

    “No risk, no reward.”  Raphael smirked, Davin’s eyes going wide.

    “Let me go!”  Davin began to shout, Raphael slamming the turtle’s head down onto the table and holding it firm with the palm of his hand.  A sharp yelp from Davin accompanied the bang of flesh against metal, the terrapin still writhing in the chains.

    “Hey, Mike’s boy.  Third drawer from the left, and grab one of the padlocks too.”  Donatello nodded and shuffled over, Michelangelo preparing the tattoo gun with basic, black ink.

    “Got a name for him, Raph?”  Mikey began swabbing the skin on the back of Davin’s neck clean, Raphael nodding.

    “Yep.  Leonardo.  His old name read like ‘DaVinci’ on paper, so I thought ‘Leonardo’ would be a good fit.  Should be number 7669-7978-6582-6879, if I did my math right.”  Raph held ‘Leo’s’ head firm as Donatello nervously pulled a speculum gag from the drawer along with a padlock, hesitantly handing them both over to Raphael.  “Thanks, boy.  Got yer number yet?”  Donatello shook his head, Raphael yanking hard on Leo’s head and securing the gag into place, cold steel keeping the jaws separated and open while the multiple straps all locked behind his head on a single point, a padlock threaded through the locking post for good measure.  “Lucky boy.  Watch and learn, then, because you’ll get yers soon enough.”

    With the gag secure and the body bound, Raphael held the terrapin’s head perfectly still while Michelangelo fired up the tattoo gun and set to work. Leo screamed as the needle began inking the back of his neck, attempting to thrash or resist and finding no purchase.  Raphael didn’t watch Michelangelo work, however, instead staring at Donatello as he in turn watched the two Dominants prepare the boy on the table for his new life.

    Leonardo passed out from the pain after the gun inadvertently hit his spinal cord, bruising the bone there and sending the most intense pain of his life throughout his nervous system before he lost consciousness entirely.  By the time he was awake, he was in a ‘recovery room’: white walls, bright lights, the scent of perfume on the air.  Raphael, his owner, was watching him carefully from the corner.  “Yer awake.  About time.”  The words were just as cold as the room itself, and as soon as Leonardo tried to move, he found his body was still tightly shackled to the meager bed.  “Don’t try ta move.  Rest up for now, you got a long road ahead of ya.”

    “Right.  Uh, sorry.”  He croaked out a meager apology, Raphael raising a brow at his choice of words.  “Sorry, Master.”

    “That’s better.  There’s no going back now, so you damn well better commit.”  Raphael stood up from his chair and paced to the bed, holding a mirror up to Leo’s face.  The word ‘SLAVE’ had been inked in thick, bold letters across his forehead, permanent blue eyeliner and lipstick around his eyes and mouth.  “I ain’t going easy on you, just because I love ya.”

    Leonardo mustered a weak smile and nod.  Of course Raphael wouldn’t go easy on him.  Appearances to keep up and all that aside, this is what he asked for.  Repeatedly. Including while both sober and shivering in an ice bath so he couldn’t think with his dick, either.  Most of what he told Michelangelo was the truth: no family, no friends, no safe word.  No bet, either, but Raphael was always good at improvising when needed.  “Wouldn’t have it any other way, Master.”

    “Good.  Cause yer gonna be staying here for a few weeks while Mikey does some touchup work on ya.  Some piercings, tats, basic mods.”  Leonardo stifled a whimper, even as Raphael uncuffed his ankles and tucked his feet into some sort of leather bag.  “Gives me time to liquidate yer shit and clean up after ya.”

    “You’ve done this before, Master?”  Leo asked, not resisting as Raphael folded his arms over his chest and pulled the leather sack up over them, carefully zipping it up over the front of his body.

    “Oh yeah.”  Raphael smirked.  “Like, half of Mike’s staff are acquisitions.  No family, no friends, no missing persons report.  Gave ‘em new lives and a healthy dose of discipline.”  Leonardo blushed hotly, his cock throbbing in its protective slit at the thought.  “Though it looks like Mike finally got a toy of his own.”

    “You didn’t get him?”  Leonardo asked, parting his jaw for Raphael to buckle that speculum gag back into place.  Raphael shook his head, smiling softly.

    “Nah. I’m a smash and grab type, you know that.  Mike, well…as scared as that kid was, Mike wouldn’t keep him if the kid didn’t want it.”  Leo nodded, gurgling around the gag as drool pooled against his throat.  Raphael fixed a blindfold over his eyes and finished zipping up the sleep sack over the top of his head, making sure the reinforced glory hole was secure over Leo’s mouth.  The turtle disappeared under the leather, Raph hoisting the mummified slave over his shoulder and slapping Leo’s ass.  “I love ya babe, but the old you is dead and gone, especially when I torch your apartment.  Yer Leonardo, now, and you are my slave.”  The turtle groaned and squirmed inside the sack as Raphael carried him out, a meek moan filling the hallway as soon as he opened the door.  “HEY, MIKE!”

    “WHAT?!”  The turtle snapped, peering around the bathroom door with his leather pants pooled around his ankles, the smell of sex in the air.

    “Putting the new bitch in your lockup.  When yer done fuckin’ your new boy, why not give him some company?”  Raphael grinned toothily, Michelangelo flashing a thumbs up before driving back into Don’s ass, another moan quivering down the hallway.  Raph set the sleep sacked terrapin in the small room Mike kept for his boy toy, a closet with a twin mattress occupying the entire floor.  “See you in a few weeks, babe.  Can’t wait to see the new you and pound that ass of yers.”


End file.
